


Drive (Just Drive)

by asexualjuliet



Series: Haunted by the Past [1]
Category: Everwood
Genre: Bright Abbott has PTSD, Bright is dealing with a lot ok!!, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualjuliet/pseuds/asexualjuliet
Summary: It’s the feeling of his hands on the steering wheel, his foot on the pedal. The knowledge that he’s in charge of Amy’s fate, and of his own. It’s too much, and he can’t fucking handle it.Or, Bright has some trauma left over from the accident.
Series: Haunted by the Past [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838590
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Drive (Just Drive)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broadway_hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadway_hufflepuff/gifts).



> “am i writing another fic about bright having a mental breakdown?? yes what about it” —me in a text to broadway_hufflepuff earlier today.
> 
> anyway i came up for the idea for this fic in driver’s ed yesterday and had to wait three hours before i could start writing it.
> 
> Title from “Drive” from The Lightning Thief Musical.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Bright!” Amy calls from across the house. “I need a ride!”

“I’m not driving you to Denver!” Bright calls back, removing one earbud. “I’ve got better things to do!”

He doesn’t add that if he went to Denver with her, he thinks he’d lose it. He hasn't seen Colin since the fifth of July, and he’s really not looking forward to changing that. 

“Not to Denver, just to Page’s house,” Amy says, before opening his door and standing there in the doorway, hands on her hips. 

“I’m not driving you to Page’s house, either,” Bright says, replacing the earbud. 

Through the music, he can still hear Amy’s “Mom says you have to,” and he sighs. 

“Give me five minutes,” he says. Satisfied, Amy turns around and marches out. 

-

He loses it before they’re even halfway down the street. He’s managed to avoid driving since the accident, but Amy kind of cornered him with this one. 

It’s the feeling of his hands on the steering wheel, his foot on the pedal. The knowledge that he’s in charge of Amy’s fate, and of his own. It’s too much, and he can’t fucking handle it. 

His heart starts to pound and he’s transported back in time. It’s the fourth of July and he’s probably a little too buzzed to be driving, but it’s fine because Colin said it would be, and Colin’s always right, isn’t he? And—

“Bright? Bright!”

Amy’s voice snaps him out of it, and he becomes all too aware of his shaky hands on the steering wheel, of the fact that it’s harder to breathe than it should be, of the fact that it’s _not_ the fourth of July, and it’s _Amy_ in the passenger’s seat, not Colin, because Colin’s in a fucking coma and he’ll probably never wake up and it’s _all Bright’s fault, and—_

“Bright, pull over,” says Amy, voice soft, and he does, steers slowly with shaky hands and pulls over to the side of the road. 

He can’t breathe, and his hands are shaking, and his heart is pounding so goddamn _loud_ that he thinks maybe he’s having a heart attack or a stroke or something. 

“Bright, are you okay?” Amy says, and he can’t find it in himself to respond in full sentences. 

“Can’t breathe” he manages, clawing at his chest in an attempt to find some air, “Can’t breathe— _shit—_ feel like I’m fucking dying.” Amy’s eyes go wide. 

“I’m gonna get Dad,” she says, and she’s out of the car and running towards the house so fast that Bright can’t even protest. 

What the _fuck_ is happening to him? He feels terrified and hopeless and nauseous and sad all at the same time, and he really hopes Amy doesn’t come back to the car just to find a dead body, because the way he feels is so fucking bad that he _has_ to be dying, he really doesn’t know what else it could be. 

A sob tears through his body and he buries his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut, because he _doesn’t fucking know what’s happening and he’s going to die any second now, and—_

He hears the car door open to his left. “Bright?” says his father’s voice, and Bright looks up, wiping tears off his face with his sweatshirt sleeves. “Are you alright?”

And Bright almost laughs, because _no, he’s not fucking alright,_ his best friend is in a coma and it’s _all his fault,_ and he’s currently choking on air like he’s forgotten how to breathe. 

“‘M dying,” is all he manages, letting loose another fit of sobs that wrack his body, _“Fuck,_ I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” his dad says, much too calmly, and if Bright wasn’t already fucking sobbing, he’d burst into tears, because yes, he fucking _is,_ he needs an ambulance or a hospital or _something,_ and—

“Bright?” says his father, gently placing a hand on Bright’s shoulder. “I need you to breathe for me, okay?”

Bright tries, but his chest is too tight, his throat feels like it’s closing up, and he just chokes on the air he’s trying to breathe. He shakes his head and shuts his eyes tight. “I can’t,” he says, voice breaking. “I-I can’t.”

“You can,” says his father’s gentle voice, “Come on, Bright, I got you. Just breathe.”

He manages a few slightly-too-shallow breaths and dissolves into tears again. “I can’t!” he sobs, “I’m gonna _die.”_

“You’re not dying, Bright,” says his father, rubbing Bright’s back, as if to provide some comfort, but Bright’s so fucking numb he can barely feel anything expect his racing heart. 

“You’re not dying,” his father says again. “You’re having a panic attack. You just need to breathe.”

“I don’t get those,” Bright says, but the quiver in his voice says otherwise. 

“There’s a first time for everything,” says his father, and if Bright wasn’t currently freaking the fuck out, he’d roll his eyes. 

“Just breathe, Bright.”

Bright tries, breathes in as much air as he can until he thinks he might faint and lets it out slowly, as his father runs a hand through his curls. 

“That’s it,” says his father. “Just breathe.”

He feels… better? Still shitty, but maybe like… one percent less shitty? One and a half percent?

(Math isn’t his forte).

He breathes again. And again. 

It’s either an hour or a minute before he’s breathing normally again, before the tight feeling in his chest and the nausea in the pit of his stomach back off and he feels like a human being again instead of just a mess of anxiety and hurt. 

“I’m okay,” he says. “I—I’m okay.”

His father nods. “Get in the passenger’s seat and I'll drive us home.”

“Yeah,” says Bright, making his way around the car and into the passenger’s seat with still-shaky legs and knees that threaten to buckle if he doesn’t sit down quickly enough. 

He pulls up his legs and hugs his knees, feeling like a little kid. He buries his face in his knees for good measure, just in case he starts crying again. 

It doesn’t take long until Bright feels them pull into the driveway, seeing as he only made it fifteen houses down the road before absolutely losing his shit. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” asks his father. 

Bright shakes his head, not looking up. His dad can’t know. _No one_ can know what he did. 

“Well…” 

Bright hugs his knees tighter.

“Just know I’m here,” says his father, and Bright hears him open the driver’s side door. “Come inside when you’re ready.”

Bright says nothing as the door closes, just waiting until his father retreats into the house before he lets loose all the tears he’s been holding back. 

He cries for Colin. For Colin and for himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> All mistakes are my own, please let me know if you see any!
> 
> Kudos/Comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
